


All About Denial

by elfriniol



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Anal Sex, Bickering, Breathplay, Crying During Sex, Enemies to Lovers, Hand Jobs, Hux needs to get laid but has ~issues~, Inexperienced Kylo Ren, M/M, Mentions of Xenophilia, POV Hux, Power Bottom Hux, Ren is a tease, Ren learns fast, basically this is an excuse to write 2 (two) sex scenes that were stuck in my head since forever, but I refused to make it a pwp, but some disturbing affection as well, helmet kisses, lol that tag actually exists omg, meaning that Hux doesn't know what Ren looks like when they get it on, mostly anger, some mild identity mindfuckery, there are some feelings too, they're competitive and stupid af
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-19
Updated: 2016-10-16
Packaged: 2018-07-25 10:51:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7529857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elfriniol/pseuds/elfriniol
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hux's rank is a great privilege but also the reason of his forced celibacy. Kylo senses that - and acts on it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I suppose everyone is tired of this sort of plot, but I jumped onto the Kylux wagon late and started writing this as my first Kylux fic in May. I still haven't finished it (I'm a loser right), but mostly it's done and the rest should follow in 2 or so weeks. At this point I just want to have this fic out of my system (and out of my harddrive), even though I'm extremely self-conscious about it.

„Sir,“ greeted Phasma as she stepped into the General's office. „There is something I'd like to discuss.“

Hux motioned to her to take a seat opposite to him at his desk. His eyes stung from staring at holorecords and datapads for the better part of the day, and he could already feel headache tugging at his brain. That, and he had the feeling Phasma wanted to talk about stressful matters. „Drink?“ he offered out of politeness even though he was sure Phasma would decline. He needed an excuse to pour himself a shot of something strong.

„No, thanks.“

Hux didn't care. It served his purpose.

Phasma seemed reluctant. Her armour, polished to chrome sheen, didn't reveal much, but Hux thought he saw barely visible movements of her fingers – squeezing her wrist and releasing. If Hux didn't know her, he'd say Phasma was nervous. Glass in hand, the liquid inside swirled and glittered with hundred hues of gold – Hux took a sip deep enough to will his mind to relax but not enough to be considered rude. Phasma was still silent.

„Captain.“

There was a crunch of static – Hux realized it was a sigh mutilated by the helmet's vocoder. „It's not something I'm keen to talk about, but it disrupts order among my troops. I must act accordingly.“ She inclined her head to the side, as if she wanted to look elsewhere than her commander. Hux had no way of determining whether that was the case, with Phasma's eyes hidden behind the visor. „There are some rumours. You may have heard them.“

Maybe this conversation wouldn't go the way he suspected it would. „I have no time to listen to stormtrooper gossip, I'm afraid.“ Maybe.

„Even those involving yourself, Sir?“

Maybe in another universe. „Even those involving myself. If I did, I wouldn't be here today.“ That was true; one must know which things to ignore and which things to attend to in order to rise through the ranks. „I'm sure you can determine when and _if_ _at all_ is needed to pay them any attention, Captain.“

This time, Phasma made clear Hux knew she was looking straight at him. „I wish this was such a case, but it's increasingly harder to ignore. It may give the troops a… wrong idea.“

Leaning back in his chair, Hux considered his options, settled for playing oblivious. „And the nature of this rumour?“

It was fun making Phasma feel insecure and Hux wished he could indulge in it without a sword hanging over his own head. Well, take what you can. „Sir, are you sure you haven't heard of it yet?“

Hux lifted an eyebrow. Phasma made a noise he took as one of disbelief. This was probably the last enjoyable moment of their dialogue.

„It's about you and Kylo Ren,“ she let out in a rush, before the words in her mouth could fully connect to their meaning in her head. „That you've been… involved.“

_D_ _on't jump to denial._ „We both know how fraternizing is dealt with on board this ship, Phasma. Or are you implying-“

„Of course not! The only problem is the crew being abuzz and the moral lapses that may occur.“ She wasn't hiding her fidgeting anymore, tapping the floor with her heavy boots at irregular intervals. It was annoying, but not enough to throw Hux off balance. „Besides you must be aware of your own position in this matter. It may be used against you.“

Hux was astonished by Phasma's unquestionable belief that he was an innocent victim of a scandalous gossip. She didn't even consider it might be true. What a relief. A relief he was saved the task of convincing her. A relief he wouldn't need to lie to her. „I appreciate your concern, Captain. However, I'm sure there's nothing to worry about. It will die out in due time.“ Figuratively _and_ literally, if need be.

Still not entirely herself, but somewhat more composed, Phasma nodded. „Hopefully yes, General. For this ship's sake, as well as yours.“ She stood, her armour a song of metallic clicks and crackles. „Now if you excuse me.“

Hux waited until the door slid shut behind her, then downed the rest of his whiskey. It burned in his throat and made him a bit twitchy. This was one of the rare moments he craved a smoke and one of the fairly frequent moments it was denied to him. Although he knew it was a poor substitute, Hux filled his glass again, to the rim, and swallowed half of it in one go. The last time he drank like this was after his father's funeral.

„Damn you, Ren.“ His voice sounded strange to his ears – rough, exhausted, raw. Maybe it was the alcohol. No, it _surely_ was the alcohol. He cursed again.

The rumour was, naturally, true; now Hux felt stupid for thinking it wouldn't escalate into this when he was so careless in the first place. No, he corrected himself again, _Ren_ was careless. Totally, absolutely careless. It's easy for him – it's not his rank and entire career at stake should it come to the worst. Ren stands out like a pompous tombstone on a ruined graveyard; he's not part of the Order, unlike Hux, and he doesn't care about anything, let alone Hux. It's so easy for that overgrown child to do whatever crosses his mind, at any time, any place.

Hux growled in frustration. Thoughts were swirling in his head like a hurricane, fueled by booze and oozing resentment. The worst thing about the current situation was that he directed his anger more at himself than at that walking human disaster. _Except_ , said the little voice in Hux's head, _you aren't even sure about that, are you?_

„Fucking bucket-head.“ He drank to that.

The bottle grew considerably lighter, the annoying pressure in Hux's forehead grew into a full-blown migraine. He stood – floor under his feet sickeningly swinging – made for the door in the back wall. It opened with a click.

Hux's private quarters were purely functional, nearly barren. One does not need much when they're in command of a ship this size – there's hardly any time for off-duty matters. One bed, one table, few shelves. Sound-proof walls for privacy, no windows. The only thing that counted as a luxury was the personal refresher.

Hux splashed water on his face, once, twice, rubbing hard as if to rinse off something more than sweat. It didn't work. Looking up, he met the stare of his own reflection and cringed at the flushed cheeks, bloodshot eyes, dishevelled hair. At the droplets of water soaking the front of his uniform. Pathetic. He covered the display with a towel.

The doorlock in the bedroom clicked again and Hux froze. No-one had the security clearance. That could only mean-

„No.“ It was all Hux could manage. He wished the black-clad hulking shape looming at the doorway was a whiskey-induced hallucination.

„Thought you'd need to talk.“ There was a pause and Hux could swear he felt a set of eyes scanning him from head to toe. „Guess I was right.“

Bile. The abstract kind. „I don't _need_ anything, least of all you.“ Straightening his posture, Hux tried to summon at least some of his flawless presentation, but then he recalled the ghostly vision in the mirror and realized it was most likely a battle already lost. „How did you get in? Oh, let me guess – _the Force,_ “ he spat the word like poison. Hux felt like hurting somebody. Hurting _Ren._ Perhaps it was the alcohol.

Ren didn't say anything. At any other occasion Hux would be happy, but now it enraged him. Ren probably didn't see a drunk soldier as a matter worth his time and Hux was so far gone to take it as a grave insult. The fact he couldn't see the knight's actual epxression because of the ever-present mask drove him wild and he felt another wave of bile rising in his gut, this time more intense, and Hux thought this is it – this is the turning point – might as well make it worth it and take it all out on the giant asshole – _it's not like this all isn't his fucking fault-_

In his mind, Hux could see himself ablaze with fury giving the tongue-lashing of his life, a spectacural fit of rage and ferocity. In reality, he doubled over and threw up most of what he'd drunk earlier. He felt weak, beaten. Ridiculous. His arms ached with how he tried to steady himself over the washbasin; his head throbbed with searing pain.

At one point his knees were about to give out, but Hux didn't collapse – instead there was a firm arm around his waist and if Hux had the energy to make a sarcastic remark, then he most certainly would. Furthermore, if he had the strength, Hux would perhaps feel something akin to gratitude since Ren prevented him from hitting his head on the porcelain and plunging headfirst to his own vomit. If, if, if.

When the worst subsided, Hux rinsed his mouth and made an attempt to leave for the bedroom. „I can handle this,“ he said, without any strong emotions. It was the closest thing to _thanks_ he allowed himself to say.

„You can barely walk.“

„If you carry me to bed I'll murder you. And maybe throw up again.“

Vocoder laugh. Intoxicated thought: _it doesn't sound that bad_. With Ren's support he managed to trudge across the room and sit down on the mattress. He still felt wobbly and he didn't know if he could do the mundane task of undressing himself; then he noticed Ren was already tugging at his boots. _If this gets out I'll have to kiss the Order goodbye._

„It won't.“

„Get out of my head.“

One boot down. „You're practically screaming inside.“

Hux kicked Ren in the ribs – it was so feeble the knight didn't even budge.

Soon after Hux lay on his back, dressed in nothing but his undershirt and briefs. And dogtags – he never took off his dogtags. He felt hot and sticky, but at least the headache somewhat diminished. A soft thud of a glass of water being placed on the nightstand pulled him back to the present. „You've ruined my carreer you know.“

„You could have stopped me. I didn't force you into anything.“

„I can't believe I let you jerk me off in a conference room.“

„ _Empty_ conference room.“

Hux laughs. It's not a nice kind of laugh – cynical and sharp at the edges. „Yeah, sure. So discreet that nobody else knows.“

Ren doesn't respond to that, and Hux is still too drunk to lead a conversation. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, he finds what pisses him the most about their unfortunate make-out session is the fact that Ren didn't even take that goddamn helmet off. Hux felt twice as stupid for letting someone so close to him when he didn't even know what they looked like; he knew practically nothing about Ren. Where he came from, how old he was, his objectives – nothing. Next to the bed Ren was shuffling his feet, as if he were nervous, and Hux promptly banished that conclusion. It didn't seem possible.

„I should leave.“

Hux remained silent. He listened to the heavy footsteps, to the tell-tale swish of robes, to the door clicking shut.

He fell asleep thinking of Ren.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for such a delay, I got unexpectedly employed xD;; I'd like to get the third chapter done in two weeks but no promises, it's been pretty hectic lately :/ hope you'll like anyway.

A month was enough for the hushed sensation to subside, another month to thoroughly diffuse that it resurfaced only sporadically among the lowest ranks. No rise in moral lapses occured as well as no acid remark on Hux's address. Phasma never pressed the matter and considered the case closed.

Hux didn't.

That one incident with Ren stirred some gears into motion and changed the routine into an uncomfortable string of monotonous tasks. Hux's position warranted commitment and great deal of self-control – personal life simply didn't belong there, in Hux's opinion. The military was simple – ranks, uniforms, protocol. Order and regulations. Everyone had what they managed to achieve and nobody questioned that. Authority came naturally with the rank. All of it brought some semblance of peace and certainty, and Hux welcomed that with open arms. Accomplishing goals and building on individual success acted as a safe getaway from Hux the person, a side of himself he was taught to deny. He made a point to see himself as a captain, lieutenant, major, colonel, general. As a resource with a unique skill-set whose authority was unquestionable.

But only in the military. Hux the person was stripped bare.

Kylo Ren was by no means part of the military.

As much as he loathed to admit, Hux's thoughts strayed to the wayward knight quite often – during uneventful shifts on the bridge, while in refresher, or on sleepless nights. The last two occasions were especially alarming, but there was no helping it. It was way too long since the last time Hux had allowed himself a tryst and Ren managed to rekindle his suppressed sex drive, for the better or worse. Aboard the _Finalizer,_ Hux was first and foremost the General, and the price to pay was loneliness.

I t was 78 days after the incident  that Ren  started to tease Hux. Subtly at first, and Hux, being considerate, overlooked most of it, but it quickly turned into a major nuisance. A fleeting touch on his forearm, prolonged conversations, witty remarks. Hux didn't care if those were Ren's attempts at seduction – it was bloody annoying. Especially when he so desperately needed to get laid. Once Ren had the audacity to squeeze his butt while they were standing on the bridge of all places and Hux had to congratulate himself on not whisking his blaster  out and shooting the idiot right there.

„You are tense today, General.“

_Well, you don't say_. Utilizing his murderous glare, Hux batted Ren's arm away. „Stop this nonsense, Ren. Now.“

„I can feel you being on edge for weeks. Frustration radiates off you in waves.“

„I don't remember asking you for a psychoanalysis.“ With that Hux turned and walked off in perfect, measured strides, back straight and composure seemingly unperturbed. Only his hands betrayed anger, with fingers closed tight.

Ren caught up almost immediately.  „I could help you.“

„If this is an attempt to get into my pants it's not impressive,“ said Hux through gritted teeth. Luckily there wasn't anybody in hearing distance.

„Your refusal isn't that impressive either.“

The nerve. Ren was too persistent to Hux's liking – or rather, Ren was too much of everything to Hux's liking. And horrible at flirting if this c ould be even called that.  So he liked to play? Alright. Hux would play along.  It was ridiculously easy to come up with a challenge Ren most likely wouldn't stand up to.

„Only if you take that off.“

They stopped at the far end in a staring contest and Hux could already taste the sweet triumph. Of course Ren wouldn't be up for showing him his face, he's too particular about his image. Vain like a Naboo aristocrat. Hux was smirking – this was worth the trouble. Ren at a loss.

„Fine.“

Interesting; Hux was willing to go as far as to say he underestimated Ren's juvenile, competitive behaviour. He kept his expression indifferent. „My quarters, 2100 hours. If you're not there on time I take it as a lack of credibility on your part.“

Ren stared him down, then slid past him and away. Nothing about his body language relayed annoyance, the mask didn't magically contort into real expressions. For some reason which he couldn't quite grasp, Hux had a sinking feeling it wasn't Ren who got bested in their little hate race.

*

Ren appeared in Hux's private quarters at 2100 hours sharp. Without knocking, without hesitation, without a word of greetings. Cutting straight to the point. It was a second thing that day that took Hux by mild surprise.

„Half-thought you wouldn't show up,“ Hux remarked, casually as ever. He made it a point not to spare Ren more than an acknowledging glance and returned to the reports splayed on his desk. It's been made apparent that Ren meant business, so Hux would take his time.

The boots Ren wore made a deep, dull thud every time they landed on the pristine floor, pauses inbetween agonizingly long, but the rhythm even, as if Ren had some built-in tempo-measuring device. „I can see that.“ The voice – modulated but not for much longer, Hux idly thought – came from a distance that could be considered too short, given their surroundings. „Yet, you half undressed.“

Hux's opinion on the state of „half-undress“ differed; it certainly didn't mean shedding the outer uniform jacket when there was a long-sleeved shirt underneath. „Usually I make myself comfortable when off duty,“ he said while standing up, datapad in hand, „it's not related to your possible visit. What gives you the confidence the universe revolves around you anyway?“ He made a show of strutting past Ren, head held high and staring at the slit of the helmet's visor. Ren didn't budge, but Hux felt him staring back. It was weirdly exciting – being watched but not being able to see. Hux wondered if Ren was aware of the idea, if he liked it, even. Maybe that's the truth behind the mask, said Hux to himself. Playing the impersonal, emotionally barren, mechanically efficient voyer.

Small sounds of creaking leather and change of footing disrupted the silence as Hux placed the datapad on the bedside cabinet, and he couldn't help a wicked grin breaking on his face. Yeah, it seemed absurd, Ren having kinks. Definitely not an option outside amusement. Without a word Hux turned, beckoned his visitor to come closer. Up this close he could make out the quiet rustling of Ren's breath, slightly louder at every exhale. Even the helmet couldn't mute them.

Right. Time to finally get rid of it. As soon as Hux makes a move to do so a loud crack echoes and the room is cast into darkness.

Curses. Probably the circuit in his whole quarters got fried. Great, as if he needed a technician squad in his bedroom. When Hux tries to go evaluate the damage, a firm hold on his arm drags him back. „Just what are you doing?“

„What I came to do, or so I thought.“

„Well, there's some pressing matter.“

Hands hold Hux in place by his waist. _Big._ It never seemed to him before,  or it did, but there's a difference between a visual and solid touch. Suddenly he is very self-conscious of his boyishly narrow hips. Next time he hears the vocoder it's so close he can feel the frequency trembling in thin air. „It's not like you can do anything about it right now.“

It was true. Certainly Hux wasn't keen on calling in maintenance  this very moment . Besides, there was a sort of emergency light in case of an accident, a thin blue photon- cloud enough  to navigat e around the room without breaking any thing . H e huffs.  Ren  is in his  quarters for five minutes and  Hux's already pissed off  to outer space and back.

T hen again… it's not like he doesn't have a history of making bad decisions already;  h is hands seem to agree as they feel around the hard edge in the place where Ren's head must be. „It's a strange coincidence the lights are out when you promise to let me see you r face, isn't it.“  There's no attempt at keeping the accusatory tone at bay. So far there's no luck finding the fastenings – his fingers has only come upon strands of hair.

It doesn't matter they're very pleasant to the touch.

„Indeed.“ Hux rolls his eyes. Who the fuck says „indeed“ nowadays?

He finally finds the pressure pads, rendering all irrelevant. The lock releases with a hiss and Hux pulls, rolls his eyes again at the pained sound and Ren's hands batting his away.

„So graceful.“

„Shut up,“ and Hux momentarily freezes at how the voice sounds – smooth, frayed at the edges, and so uncharacteristically _human_ in the most poetically-pretentious way.  The helmet comes to rest between them, digging into Hux's solar plexus as he does not intend to take a step back. The lack of light makes it impossible to see more than a black-grey silhouette against the wall. Slowly, Hux raises his hand, traces the exposed skin. Steep jawline. Chin. Lips – soft and plump. They move against his thumb, articulate an unnecessary question.

„You won't let me see you with my eyes-“ nose, long and prominent, sculpted cheekbones, brush-like eyebrows „-so I just have to use my hands.“ His finger slides down, is tickled with the flutter of lashes, and Hux declares Ren to be human in terms of physiognomy too. He proceeds to sink up to his wrists in the unruly hair, twists and turns every lock, teasingly tugs at the ears that are, just as the rest of Ren, large. The last action pushes Ren away, as if in shame. At least the stupid helmet disappears.

The situation has a strange vibe, this sense of secrecy and, to certain degree, anonymity that make it seem like a cliche plot of the majority-pleasing, low-focus-demanding film s on the holonet.  A ruthless soldier and a fallen Jedi.  It's ridiculous – this is not a romance of any kind and there's a vague threat hanging over their heads. Albeit personal relationships were not explicitly forbidden  among the higher ranks , there was an unwritten rule that they were strictly separated from workplace.  Members of the same crew serving on the same ship simply couldn't afford distractions.  And then there was Hux's pride and reputation.

Yet, here he was, unhitching Ren's belt and sending it clattering to the floor.

„You're quiet,“ he says as he pries open the blanket-like robe, „to what do I owe this sweet privilege?“

Ren merely groans. At least he took the hint and sheds the remaining layers from his torso. He's impressively built; Hux always thought it was the outfit, but Ren didn't need tailor's help to look intimidating. If Ren wanted he could kill Hux with bare hands, crush his windpipe or squeeze the breath out of him with his weight alone, and Hux makes the mistake of wondering how that hasn't happened yet and the thought leaves him embarrassingly aroused.

Ren doesn't call him out  on it , but Hux is dead-sure he's heard.  It's written in the tension  of those stupidly broad shoulders  and the quickening heartbeat under Hux's palm – does Ren use the officer's gym for workouts? Those pecs are  _massive_ – and Hux catches himself wriggling closer to that solid wall of muscle,  horny as if he were back in his cadet days.

„You wear way too much clothes,“ Hux breathes out before thinking better of it, and then crosses that invisible line between „maybe“ and „hell yes“ with a frenzied, open-mouthed kiss. It's teethy at first, and Ren is a bit sloppy, his big nose squished against Hux's cheek, but Hux is so touch-starved he doesn't give a single fuck. He's practically climbing Ren, hand groping at the back of the knight's neck, tongue delving deep and air growing thin. It takes him by surprise when he's lifted up so only his tiptoes reach the floor and Ren literally mauls his face with those plush lips he so carefully touched only minutes before. Hux whines – that sound's pathetic, utterly not befitting a general of the First Order, but it feels so good to finally snap. Yield to the temptation.

His shirt clings to him on his back, damp with sweat. Why is he still dressed?

„Wait.“ It takes a soft bite for the words to register and Hux thinks he can see the glint of Ren's wide eyed stare, even in the dark. He makes a move to the shirt buttons, quite a feat with Ren's arms still wrapped around his waist, and Ren is being stupid again and mouths at his jaw and throat and- god, can't he take a hint? „Let me at least undress, idiot.“ Really. Use the Force if you're so oblivious.

As the buttons go flying and the now ruined shirt  falls to the floor, Hux vows to be more careful  about what he wishes for.

He ends up on the bed,  sprawling at the edge. In one shameless moment Hux lifts his booted leg in Ren's direction. „Take it off.  _Carefully._ These things cost credits.“

„Thought uniforms were issued.“

„I'm not some cheapskate sergeant, I have my uniforms tailored.“ Watching Ren work reminds him of that time he got drunk. It seems years ago, given how their… situation escalated. „The boots are measured to fit. As well as the shirt you tore up.“

„You asked me to.“

„To _undress_ me, not to destroy my closet. Like you're doing right now,“ Hux says while Ren moves to unzip his trousers, lying very still. „ When you're done you'll strip and lie down next to me.“

R en obeys; Hux watches him shedding his pants but Ren stands in such angle that Hux can't see much. It's cute, in its own way – a man of Ren's stature trying to conceal his nudity. As if he had any reason to act all self-conscious.  When he crawls over Hux onto the mattress and settles on his side, Hux wastes no time to resume his earlier exploration.  It makes Ren gasp.

„Well, fuck.“ Hux anticipated this. Yet. Reality. It's always different to imagine and to experience, and Hux certainly is surprised by the thickness in his grip, by the generous wetness against his wrist. He slides his hand in one languid stroke and shit, it's quite a trip, and Kylo whimpers at the end and it goes straight to Hux's loins.

H e'll get wrecked tonight.

„I want to fuck you,“ Kylo demands, but the words are wobbly, all over the place and Hux feels somewhat fond of the uncertainty, although he can't place whether it's the slow stimulation or Ren's apparent lack of experience. Usually, Ren takes what he wants – he has the Force to help. Now? Not so much. Hux feels if he'd deny him Ren would break down crying.

„All in a good time.“ His hand slides back down, smearing precome, sets a steady rhythm. „You're so worked up now, try to relax,“ Hux coaxes, leans in to mouth at the column of Ren's exposed throat. „I want a long, satisfying fuck,“ at that Ren jerks his hips into Hux's palm – Hux feels his whines on his lips, they vibrate through Ren's throat like a cat's purr, „you wouldn't last a second, given the state you are in.“

Ren makes a noise – disagreement – squeezes Hux's hip in a vicegrip. Hux smiles. He could get used to this.

„H-Hux.“

„Shhhh. Let go.“

It's the order that does it, its familiarity reassuring; Ren arches his back and melts under Hux's touch as orgasm ripples through him in waves, fingers clawing at the soft flesh so hard it will leave Hux bruised for days.

Hux, wiping his hand on bedsheets and nuzzling Ren's nape, comes to conclusion he doesn't mind. He could lay here forever mumbling sweet nothings into softness of Ren's skin, with long limbs haphazardly thrown over his own, feeling warm, content.

Useless, useless thoughts.

Start over.

There's a bottle of lube in the drawer of the bedside table, a thin, probably overpriced flask with embossed letters of the brand name. Hux hasn't even used it – it just stood at the back of the fresher cabinet, staring at him every morning with a silent demand, _are you gonna do it or not_?, and it always had been close to accusation. Long it has been the symbol of Hux's defeat – the only one he'd ever admit.

Not anymore, he thinks as he pulls open the drawer, fingers squeezing around the cold glass.

„Where are you going?“ It could have as well as been _you're not going anywhere,_ judging by the hold on his sides, the weight against his back pinning him down.

Hux looks over his shoulder, kisses the space where Ren's cheek must be. „Thought you wanted to fuck me,“ he explains, finding Ren's lips by touch. When they part, Hux is giving him the bottle and Ren takes it after a significant pause, though if it's due to not being able to see the object in the dark or due to cluelessness, Hux cannot tell.

Soon after his doubts are brushed away by a wet finger finding its way between his asscheeks and inside, and _god_ , it feels good. Hux moves to lie on his side, arches his back to the touch, his body screaming for more, more, _more_ that he bites his lip lest he starts begging with his voice too. „You can go faster,“ he pants as two digits stretch him open, positively yelps when a third one joins them, „fuck, Ren, I can take it. Move.“

„Bossy.“ Shudders of anticipation run down his spine and then all he can perceive is the faceless warmth behind him and strong hands spreading him open and then it's finally happening and Hux's mind goes blank. It stings at first and Hux will be sore the next day, but the way Ren's cock drives into him makes his toes curl and clutch fistfuls of bedsheets. He buries his face to the pillows, and only then breathes out Ren's name.

Fabric obliterates the „r“, swallows the single vowel and the last letter never makes it that far.

Thankgod.

Hux shouts when Ren, not even bothering to pull out, yanks him up on his hands and knees, drags him so his ass is raised high, ripe for Ren to take, to use. All Hux can do is squirm, gasp, whine; he stares wide-eyed at the wall in his line of sight and tries not to think about Ren's smug grin at how powerless he is here, in his own bedroom, taking Ren's dick with poorly concealed enthusiasm.

Hells, it just _feels_ _to_ _o good_.

He's moaning when he comes, sobbing when Ren doesn't even pause and fucks him hard through each wave of orgasm. His skin feels like on fire, and Hux lets out a shaky sigh of relief when he feels come trickling out of his hole, Ren slamming into him in two erratic thrusts before collapsing on his back, pressing Hux hard into the mattress.

It takes a minute or two for Hux to catch his breath. Needless to say this repost exceeded his expectations – he can't recall the last time he got so thoroughly laid. Perhaps that one time in a shabby cantina while on shore leave when he got it on with a togruta, but even then, crying during sex was a new low even for him.

And, of all people, Ren…

He still lay limp on Hux's back, but it was getting uncomfortable, enough that Hux had trouble breathing. If it weren't for the unmistakable thud of Ren's heartbeat Hux would think he just dropped dead. Like this, however, it seemed more probable he merely passed out.

It's enough for Hux to slip back to his irritated self. If he coaxed Ren into an orgasm so intense it'd turn out to be fatal he'd feel a disturbing satisfaction, but this way he just got angry that Ren fell asleep on him.

„Ren.“

Nothing.

Urgency. „Ren. You're heavy.“

One deep breath and Ren is rolling away, pulling out in a manner that makes Hux curse him and his family – complete with potential offspring –, settling next to Hux and draping one arm over his waist. He seems very different now. Unguarded. Against his better judgement Hux wiggles closer, until his head is tucked under Ren's chin.

It's warm there. Warm and a heady scent Hux can't describe as anything else than as Ren.

„Sorry. 'Bout the lights.“

Of course. „You could have asked me to switch them off.“

Ren's hand travels up Hux's back, rests against the sharp edges of his shoulderblades. „And would you?“

„Maybe. Maybe not.“ _At least you were worth the trouble._ „It's hard to tell.“

Ren doesn't react, not before the datapad on the bedside table rings and Hux rolls away to check it, and then it's too late. The screen casts a dim glow about Hux's neck and shoulders, like dusting of snow. It almost makes him look fragile, in the silence. When he's not forming words meant to wound.

„Not important,“ Hux declares a minute later, dropping the device. He doesn't turn to face Ren again, but blindly reaches behind himself and drags Ren's arm to his chest, pulls him flush against his back, and he's out like the light.

He wakes up at one point during the artificial night to heavy boots moving around and rustle of cloth. There's a thick stream of light pouring in from the refresher – at least the lights there are functioning – and after a while Ren appears. Hux watches through half-lidded eyes, unmoving, at Ren's half-visible face. Young is the first impression, awkward is the second.

The third is a promise.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINALLY it's over! Whew. I didn't expect this to take me this long, so sorry for the wait. Thanks for sticking with this till the end, I hope you enjoy~

Hux could have anticipated, after the signal tower reported that Kylo Ren’s shuttle was expected to land within the next 3 hours, that Ren would again start being a major pain in his ass (figuratively, although the hidden meaning wasn’t lost on him). Really, it was inevitable. They were way too different, both functioning on entirely different wavelengths.

He just didn’t expect it would come to that barely 2 hours after Ren’s arrival at Starkiller, in Hux’s own rooms no less.

“Ren.” This won’t faze him. It won’t. “You’re in my personal quarters, without my knowledge, let alone permission.”

Ren is standing by the floor-to-ceiling tall window, next to the balcony door, staring intently at the landing zone off to the right. Every couple minutes arrive or depart TIE fighters, and Hux often watches the bustle around the base with near-sentimental satisfaction. That is, when an unpredictable Force-sensitive isn’t intruding on his bedroom.

“Thought I’d stop by.” He doesn’t even tilt that trashcan on his head in Hux’s direction.

“I’m honoured. It’s so flattering to find an unwanted guest in my bedroom at nightfall.”

“You haven’t seen me in 132 days, 9 hours-”

Hux lets out some sort of a frustrated growl as he makes his way towards the nuisance. “You can’t even be _serious,_ Ren-”

“-and 45 seconds.”

“-don’t try to tell me you kept track of fucking seconds.”

Ren finally, _finally_ turns. “I did.”

“Well. Wow. You almost made me cry.”

There’s something off - well, there’s always something off about Ren, but as he stood there, hulking by the ridiculously huge windowpane, alarmingly close to Hux’s bed, the off-ness just radiated from him. Perhaps he was fatigued after the mission. Perhaps something went wrong and he was shaken. Perhaps he just really wanted to say hi, in which case Hux would declare Ren to be awfully childish and plain idiotic and would never take him seriously again.

Hux realized that implied he takes Ren seriously at least on _some_ occasions, and he had to cough to hide an ugly chuckle.

“Why are you here. Think of a good reason.”

Again, Ren doesn’t reply. He inches forward, subtly worms himself into Hux’s personal space. It’s what Ren always does, always has done. Wriggling his way into someone’s acceptance. Hux should know better with his experience, yet doesn’t stop the knight’s advance, how he leans forward to lightly press the front plate of his helmet to Hux’s cheek.

It’s awfully intimate. While Hux isn’t opposed to displays of affection - quite the opposite, although any affection he has ever given was empty, sweet deception, because it's just _done_ that way - he likes to be warned beforehand. He’s still pissed at Ren’s tendencies to disrupt every sense of order he has carefully instituted. The concept of doors and locks was, apparently, unknown to the Vader-wannabe.

A touch on Hux’s forearm makes him instinctively turn his head in that direction, towards the window, thus facing the smooth surface of Ren’s helmet, and Ren does not waste a second to press forward until Hux’s lips are squished flat against the cold metal, as if in a kiss. Hux fell for it; he underestimated Ren. Again.

“I can’t believe you,” he deadpans, staring straight into the slit of the mask, imagining set of human eyes there. He can only see a slice of his own reflection.

“You didn’t think of me? At all?”

“No.” Every waking hour he thought of that phantom of a face, of that half-revealed mystery he still wanted to crack no matter the cost.

“Lie.”

“I’m still mad at you.”

“There won’t be a day in your life you wouldn’t be mad at me,” says Ren while rubbing his thumb against Hux’s wrist, in some twisted reassurance. “I can just take my chances.”

The thought is so idiotic Hux suspects it’s true. Everything about Ren is like that – absurd and overdone. Hux has reached some level of acceptance on that matter, otherwise he’d be driven to madness.

Nudge. Metal against his nose, his mouth, damp from his own breath. When he closes his eyes, Hux can hear each of Ren's breaths, trapped under the mask like a fluttering bird in a cage. The touch on his arm is still there, and more impulses are surfacing; the heat, the closeness, the thought of a promise-

_So?_

Hux opens his eyes.

And surges forward.

He never thought he'd be snogging a fucking inanimate object at some point in his life, but this was as unforeseen as having a cryptic mystic on board his ship. Yes. Unpredictable. You can't prepare for shit like that – you just react when it happens. Ad hoc. Improvisation has always been Hux's forte.

He drags his teeth over the centerpiece – he's not foolish enough to think he'll dent a battle helmet, but the scraping sound is satisfying and accurately describes how Hux feels about this particular piece of Ren's costume.

"It's not a _costume-_ "

"Fine. Attire. I still hate it." This time Hux finds the clasps fast, releases them, pulls. It's easy when he sees what he's doing. "If you cause another blackout I'm gonna kick you out of the _planet._ "

Like the previous time, Ren refrains from speaking without the vocoder, so the first time Hux properly sees his face he's sporting a hurt pout. It draws attention to that mouth Hux so intimately knew by touch but not really by sight. Just the memory of it devouring his skin is enough to improve his mood. He tosses the helmet on the bed and cups Ren's face in his hands, making him look at him. "Why you act so shy? After all we did."

Ren's eyes flicker to meet Hux's stare, for a moment. He murmurs something indiscernible.

"What?"

"Face."

"Yes, you have one."

And what a face it was – it defied logic and yet Hux found himself staring at the fluttering eyelids, soft lips, slightly crooked nose with something akin to fondness, which was definitely uncalled for. He swiped his gloved fingers across smooth cheeks, leaned in close to count the freckles and moles. Couldn't get enough.

Ren has had enough, apparently – the next moment he's leaning forward to bury his nose to Hux's perfectly styled hair and after a moment of awkwardness Hux gives in and wraps his arms around Ren's waist in a forced hug. Every day learn something new, right?

But Hux doesn't do sentimental bangs. "If you're here for a fuck I suggest you get on with it."

"You're such an ass."

"And yet, here you are," Hux says as he pulls away, keeping Ren at arm's length, "first thing after your mission, overeager like a puppy, desperately looking for approval. Do you need me to tell you what a good boy you a-"

The next thing he knew was being pressed to the transparisteel window with such force it took his breath away; his head made a loud thud at the impact and Ren was on him, rough kisses and closeness suffocating him. Hux recalls how long it took for the bruises from their last encounter to fade and he can already feel new ones blooming, bursting like supernovas beneath Ren's vice-like grip at his flanks, his arms, then his throat-

"Like you more when you don't talk-" bite to his chin, then the hand squeezes his jaw it hurts and Hux _whines_ "-all you say is fake and demeaning anyway; no wonder you're a general at 33 when you lied and threatened your way through the ranks-"

_"Careful, Ren."_ It's humiliating to talk with mandible held firmly in place – the warning sounds flat and dull and so much like a challenge for Ren to accept and inevitably crush.

It's the stare that does it for Hux, how Ren looks at him from five inch distance, impassive, as if this were an interrogation (isn't it?), as if Hux was expected to break; he braces himself against a mindprobe but none ever comes because Ren knows he doesn't have to take the drastic measures granted by the Force, and then there's the unmistakable jolt of desire and a small, triumphant smile on Ren's lips.

Hux loathes him but damn, if this isn't tempting.

"I don't have to dive into your mind to know what's going on there, you know – not even the majority of prisoners I collect intel from requires that. I can read you like an open book; see through every lie you tell. Sometimes I feel sorry for you-"

Before Hux can address that Ren slams his mouth shut.

"-you're being so hard on yourself, needlessly so. Why don't you drop the act, once in a while?" He leans closer, close enough for Hux to see the yellow speckles in his otherwise dark eyes. _His face is so deceptively soft._ "Now would be a good occasion."

Yes. Perhaps. But-

Ren clicks his tongue, although releases his hold. It's not like Hux will be going anywhere Ren doesn't want him to go.

And Hux...

Hux could let go, this one time. Just this once.

(He had told that to himself after the first unfortunate time in the conference room too, all those months ago, but who would've guessed.)

When Ren leans in for another kiss and starts unzipping his uniform, Hux doesn't fight back. It's dream-like, a total breakdown from what transpired just a moment ago; while some of Ren's aggressiveness is still there – in the tug of his fingers and the teeth at Hux's lower lip – it's not posed as a threat, or manifestation of power. It's a vent to let out the steam; a thread in a maze; an emergency override.

It doesn't feel half bad.

"I want to see you." Hux doesn't register himself saying that, but he must have judging by the pink tint to Ren's cheeks, and his hands only underline the – order, plea? – as they unbuckle Ren's belt and shrug his robes off until Hux slides over the smooth skin of the nape, past the rise of collarbones and over the impressive span of Ren's pectorals. He stops there, kneads and squeezes the flesh till it's flushed, feels Ren's breath hitch against his mouth before he's drawn in for another kiss, strands of dark hair tickling his face. He likes the way Ren's tits fit in his hands, how the buds of his nipples press against his palms. Trailing lower, along the steep fall of Ren's sides – they're soft at the edges, testament to unbalanced diet – he comes at long last to the thick leather of Ren's pants and doesn't waste a second in unzipping them.

Before he can do anything more, his wrists are seized and pulled away.

"Let me do this. My way."

Hux contemplates the idea; Ren isn't forceful, he's really dependant on Hux's permission here. That's enough information to draw content from – even like this, Hux hasn't lost his authority, or at least not all of it.

Permission. Approval.

Power.

It makes the decision-making easier.

Ren catches on the change in Hux's composure immediately as he lets his hands go and pulls the top piece of the uniform off, Hux leaning against the windowpane and watching every move with detached interest. Lets Ren do the work. The transparisteel feels cold against his back, sends shivers down his spine, as well as the trail of wet kisses starting at his throat and running lower, past the flat of his sternum to the soft skin of his belly. Lazily he lifts one foot so Ren can work on his boots, palms laid flat against the window, eyes downcast and focused on the broad shoulders bowed before him. It’s not a bad sight, not at all, even though Ren’s skin is marred by countless scars. A stark contrast to Hux’s own body; the only significant scar he has is just above his left inner ankle from the time he burnt it on a speeder’s exhaust.

Completely stripped, Hux shudders as Ren looks up at him, all raw want and desire. It’s almost too much and yet not nearly enough.

“Turn around.”

Reluctantly, after Ren’s hands at his hips force him, Hux complies. As soon as Ren vanishes from his sight his self-consciousness doubles: now Ren has a great advantage at his disposal. He doesn’t seem like a tactician but then he’s far too familiar with intimidation technique.

It works, Hux thinks as a bitter afterthought. He feels so exposed - nude, pressed against a bloody window, and his asscheeks being mouthed at by Kylo Ren of all people.

“I have a perfectly functional bed, you know.”

Creaking leather, hot breath rising along his spine. “You don’t need to worry about being seen by the TIE pilots.” Sharp chin digging into the soft meat of Hux’s shoulder. “And I can tell you like this.” Squeeze at his buttocks, punctuated by short nails.

Hux tenses, wants to turn to face the knight, but Ren effectively stops him with a bite to the same place where he tucked his head just a moment ago. That’s gonna chafe for a whole week; more bites come, mark their way to Hux’s throat and he can see sparks when Ren’s teeth close on the artery running along the side of his neck. Ren’s knee - still clothed - nudges Hux’s legs further apart and Ren’s fingers move to rub at Hux’s hole.

“Ren-”

“Where.”

“Bedside drawer.”

The drawer flies open at Ren’s will and the noise startles Hux - bloody Force - and a second later a bottle of lube soars into Ren’s grasp. Hux snorts at the theatrics. At last he can’t say Kylo Ren is a boring lover.

Lover?

Before he can explore this train of thought Ren starts fingering him open, and as much as Hux is accomplished in multitasking, keeping focus during sex is a whole different matter. Forehead against the window, breath fogging the surface, he wills his body to relax. Ren’s mouth returns to nip at his neck, sucking more bruises, kissing those already there, murmuring some awful cliches like “you missed me I know you did” and “I thought of you all the time”.

“Would you please shut up?”

The violent twist of fingers Ren gives him makes Hux reconsider. He _could_ tone down his snark. For the duration of this encounter. Yes.

Although it might be too late.

“How I wish _you_ would keep your mouth shut for at least enough time for me to forget you’re a galactic _asshole_ -” Ren growls into Hux’s ear, emphasizing the word by scissoring Hux to his limit. Hux can hear a high, keening noise and only in retrospect realizes it was him.

Behind him Ren huffs, amused. Because of course he is. When did Hux stoop this low - he didn’t know. Maybe the moment Kylo Ren set foot on the _Finalizer._

Soon Ren’s fingers are substitued by the slicked head of his cock and before Hux knows it, Ren hooks one arm under his right knee and _lifts._

“Ren what-” Hux starts as Ren’s other arm pulls him away from the window so only his outstretched palms can reach it. He’s being held split open, swaying in a strange vertigo as only one of his feet is safely planted on the ground. He can’t move - not really. He can just wait for Ren to do whatever he wants to him.

It’s degrading, humiliating, obscene.

Hux loves it.

“Knew you were a slut.”

Any possible protest is cut short when Ren starts thrusting, going slow just enough not to hurt Hux but not enough to be gentle. Ren’s right hand pulls Hux’s leg as high as it will go - Hux can feel the muscles and tendons in his inner thigh go sore - while the other rakes over Hux’s naked torso; first splayed flat just below Hux’s ribs, then pinching a nipple, finally resting at the elegant column of Hux’s throat. Hux can’t really react to that - this position makes his back arch and head throw backwards whether he likes it or not. He catches a glimpse of his reflection in the window; it looks just as filthy as it feels. He clenches at the thought - making Ren groan - stares mesmerized at the bumping motion, at his open mouth, at Ren’s hand ready to throttle him, then his gaze shifts to what goes beyond the transparisteel and there are the TIE fighters landing and departing still, their crews completely oblivious to the fact that their General is getting boned right where anyone can see him.

“Does it turn you on,” Ren pants behind him, “that you’re on display?”

Hux moans, one hand going to his groin.

“Nuh-uh,” Ren squeezes at his throat - hard - and Hux stills. “No touching yourself. You’re gonna come just from this.”

The grip loosens but doesn’t go away, and Hux whines and moans through ragged breaths, eyes screwed shut and prickling with salt. Ren’s thrusts gain intensity - they rhythmically lift him up so he’s constantly on his tiptoes - and Ren’s fingers press at his jugular in irregural intervals. The air shortage makes Hux go lightheaded, dizzy, not to mention Ren’s dick spearing him open. He’s shivering, feels sweat trickling down his brow, he’s cold and hot at the same time and suspended in the air and when Ren lets him take a long shuddering breath he convulses at the taste of air in his lungs.

“Ren, I’m gonna-”

The rest of the sentence disintegrates in a scream as Hux comes, untouched just as Ren foretold, single tear running down his cheek, whole body pulsing, sending Ren off the edge as well. They crash into the transparisteel window, Hux just barely managing to pull up his forearms to save his face from a bigger impact, panting and twitching in the aftermath. A pained hiss escapes his mouth as Ren slowly lowers his abused leg to the ground, then turns him around so Hux’s back leans against the window again.

Holding onto Ren’s upper arms, Hux feels himself slowly returning from the heights of orgasm. Idly he wonders if Ren watched some holoporn while on mission because this was way too mindblowing compared to last time; later Hux concluded the last time with Ren was amazing not due to Ren’s skill, but due to Hux’s touch-starved state. Now he’s wondering what it is about Ren that makes him undone. The mysticism, the Force? Ren’s physical strength? Hux’s resentment towards the man?

All of it?

None of it?

He’s pulled back to present by Ren’s thumb running over his cheek in a sudden gentle gesture, then realizes it ran along the tear-trail and that’s Hux’s cue to leave for the refresher. He steps over Ren’s boots and pants on the floor - he didn’t even notice Ren taking them off - cleans himself as best he can; he considers taking a shower but decides he’ll go for a smoke on the balcony. To set his nerves straight.

As Hux passes through the bedroom, Ren is still there, lingering in almost the same spot. He can sense Ren’s eyes on him as he grabs his greatcoat and steps into the night. He doesn’t close the door.

The air outside is chilly and the tiles of the balcony as cold as the snowy blanket draped over the wilderness, a stark contrast to the sticky warmth in the bedchamber. This and the tobacco combined clears Hux's mind with almost alarming speed. He watches the smoke curl in wisps towards the skies dulled by rolling clouds. It offeres a strange sort of comfort, this serenity. One could almost forget this very place was a weapon of mass destruction.

Halfway through the smoke, Hux hears another set of bare feet on the tiles, and a moment later arms wrapped around him – bare as well – wrinkling the greatcoat into a mess, pulling Hux into a tight embrace. It feels good. Warm.

„Didn't know you smoked.“

„Well, you don't know very much about me in the first place.“

„You never smoked on the ship.“ Ren startles as Hux begins to laugh, so much that his shoulders shake, and very quickly irritation furrows his brow. „What.“

„Where do you live, Ren, don't you know how breathable air is distributed on starships? Of course smoking is forbidden,“ says Hux, twisting his neck so he can see the frowning grimace hovering over his shoulder. He's met with a glare. „Don't look at me like that, it was funny.“

Ren grumbles; he squeezes Hux's waist in revenge. Hux takes a long drag from the cig and then tentatively holds it out for Ren. This time he saw puzzlement.

„Go on, try it.“

„Uh, why?“

„Because I'm offering. But you don't have to.“

Ren stares at the rolled up leaves as if it were some extraordinarily weird animal specie he was seeing for the first time, but then leans down and nibbles at the filter. Hux holds his breath – the sight of Ren's lips around something round is appealing, distracting, and Ren's eyes flutter close and damn, Hux isn't sure if the fucker put up a show or was just _this_ awkwardly shy. „Gotta breathe it in,“ Hux coaxes before he can stop himself, and he watches the tiny flexions of muscle around Ren's mouth, his chin, how those full lips wrinkle, and eyebrows drawn in concentration and-

-and then Ren is coughing into Hux's coat, choking on the smoke, and Hux can't help himself but think it's all kind of cute and not embarrassing, at least not entirely.

„Disgusting,“ Ren sputters, voice hoarse.

Hux smiles – actually smiles. His other hand found Ren's chin and holds Ren's face in place, taking in his flushed cheeks, beads of tears in the corners of his eyes. „Outrageous,“ teases Hux, rolling the „r“ on the tip of his tongue as he did every time he wanted to make a statement. His gaze wanders lower, to those ridiculously plush lips.

The kiss follows almost instantly; Hux is having trouble keeping the almost dead smoke out of the way as Ren's grip on him grows tighter and Ren's hands grow bolder with every brush of tongue, every pull of teeth. Hux twists in the embrace and puts out the cigarette on the balustrade, Ren's mouth practically glued to his temple. He tosses the charred remains over it, into the darkness. „Let's go back.“

„Mhm.“ With that Hux is swept into the air, as if he weighed nothing.

„Do you enjoy picking me up that much?“

„Not as much as you do. You can't hide it from me.“ It's an observation, there's no dagger in Ren's words. Hux can't argue with that.

They return inside, the warmth of the room reminding Hux of how cold in fact the night is. Ren seats him on the bed, never stopping touching him. The weight of Hux's arms on his shoulders is comforting.

„You're staying.“ It's halfway through to a question. This is the first time Ren picks up something close to uncertainty in Hux's composure.

„I am,“ Ren breathes into the kiss. He runs his hands over the alabaster torso revealed before him, beneath the opened coat. He feels every shudder. Ren isn't entirely sure if this is the direction they should be taking but he's already too far gone – it seems surreal, so unlike themselves, but Ren can't fight it, won't.

It's Hux who gives the order. „Fuck me again.“

Ren obeys.

 

*

 

When Hux woke up the room was dimly lit by pale light of dawn. Sunlight wouldn't come for several hours, and when it would, it would be subtle and mute, more of an accent than a lamp to illuminate. This planet looked like it wore a cloak of grey, but Hux didn't mind. His skin wasn't good with the sun anyway.

It took him a moment to realize that something was off, only after his left hand clutched cold sheets instead of warm, living flesh. Eyes cracking open, Hux took in his surroundings. He found what he was looking for sooner than he expected.

„Ren?“

Ren is kneeling on the floor, basked in the glow coming through the floor-long window, meditating or whatever the hell a moody Force-user does after a night of fucking. He didn't even bother with clothes. At the sound of his name, however, Ren inclines his head ever so slightly to the side, in general direction of the bed.

Hux is pleasantly drowsy, too tired to be irritated. Plus, this isn't the weirdest antic. „Second thoughts?“

Slowly, Ren starts to get up, flexing muscles as if to wake them up. „About?“

„Don't know, failed celibacy?“

„I'm not a Jedi.“

There's an edge to the statement and Hux can picture the sneer twisting Ren's mouth into grimace laced with childish hurt – as if Hux jumbled up a name of his favourite superhero. He snorts into the pillows. Genuine laughter.

„Done yet?“

„No,“ barks Hux. „Come back to bed,“ with that he moves, making enough room for the other. An invitation.

One, two, three seconds. Ren looming over the bed, shoulders hunched forward, still. Four, five. Hux closes his eyes, patient. He knows Ren said he wouldn't leave, but he doesn't know whether he's changed his mind. If anything, Ren was unstable, like a flickering flame in a tempest. Six. Seven.

Eight – a sigh. Triumphant, Hux lifts one corner of his mouth, the one facing the pillow, trying to be subtle about it. It doesn't go unnoticed – as Ren lays down, he mutters something indiscernible. Hux interprets it as a mild insult, but doesn't dwell on it. Instead, as soon as the man makes himself comfortable, Hux moves close, head resting on Ren's shoulder, arm wrapped around taut muscles of Ren's torso.

„Why?“

„Why what?“ The words slur on Hux's tongue as sleep threatens to take over. He could lay here like this forever.

Ren isn't faring any better when it comes to articulate speech. „You're always so touchy. Hugging and kissing,“ curious, Hux listens, waiting for more words to sink into his dishevelled hair, „if I didn't know you, I'd say you liked me.“

Hux wonders when did their interaction take this turn. To say it was unexpected was an understatement; never, not even once, did either of them bring up something as intimate and personal as their motives behind these escapades. To Hux it didn't matter very much – he abandons this string of thought before Ren can pick on it. „So according to you, what should I _not_ do?“ he finally settles, idly tracing Ren's pectorals. „Touch you more than absolutely necessary, stay the night after the act?“ He props himself on one elbow, face to face with uncertainty. „Kiss you?“

Ren avoids his stare, even in the dark. „How should I know, you've got experience with this sort of thing.“

„I knew it,“ Hux proclaims, sporting a nasty grin.

„Knew what?“

„You were a virgin.“

„Oh, fuck off.“ Ren gently shoves Hux away who falls back down, burying his face in Ren's nape, inhaling the scent that lingers there, giddy in the aftermath of his joke. That explains some things. Many things in fact; Hux files this piece of information away to visit it later, when he's alone in his quarters sipping preposterously expensive whiskey.

„It isn't all or nothing, you know.“

„Huh?“

„Stars, Ren, you accused me of being touchy, I'm trying to give you an explanation here,“ Hux nearly spits the words, suddenly impatient and a tad… nervous? Anxious? Whatever that stands for. „A mature explanation,“ he adds, unsure for whom. Once he straightens his thoughts, continues, trying not to overthink it, lest he thinks too loud for Ren to hear. „These things just go along with it. Make it seem real, improve it even. If I wanted a fucking for the sake of fucking I assure you I would most likely look elsewhere.“

Ren's heartbeat quickens by a millisecond, a sensation almost imperceptible. Hux is 87% sure it's anger. „Meaning you're not bad, but your moods are foul even at your best.“

„Hux-“

„I'm not done yet,“ Hux cuts in with razor-sharp voice he usually reserves for ordering the _Finalizer_ crew. He knows he's treading a very fine line that might result in Ren wrecking the room or a chokehold. Or both. „Not to mention my position hardly allows for this kind of arrangement. Since you're so much trouble, there must be some redeeming qualities about you. Kissing is one of them,“ Hux concludes, emphasizing with a peck to Ren's throat. He lets his lips linger for a moment longer, feeling the pulse of blood, thinking about the life force coursing through arteries and veins; the engineer in him thinks of it as a perfectly oiled machine, with gears turning in perfect harmony. A work of superb craftsmanship. Suddenly he's aware of a big hand splayed on the small of back and wonders whether his mind got yet again hijacked against his will.

„You think too loud.“

„And you never choose to ignore it. Privacy is a concept lost on you.“

„Maybe.“

The lack of denial is one of the most irritable things about Ren. At times when anger gets the better of him, when he thrashes and cuts and slices everything within range – and the range is quite considerate, with the lightsaber and whatnot – Ren slips into denial as well. It's not like he doesn't realize what he's done – oh no. He's always perfectly aware, and some part of him probably even acknowledges it's something he didn't really have to do and that it's actually pointless, as far as Hux can tell. And yet, _yet,_ he never stops, never looks back, never even fucking apologizes. A faint trace of self-reflexion can only go so far.

Ren's hand on his back feels so warm and reassuring that Hux almost gives himself to sleep, his mind a blank slate slipping away from consciousness, when he more feels than hears Ren speak, ruining the moment.

Ren's special ability is ruining things.

Hux doesn't really mind.

„So it's just… that? A show?“

„You sound disappointed.“

„Answer me.“

„You want a confession from me? But wait, you can make me say whatever the hell you please-“

„Hux-“

„-or are you just intent on making me regret all of this-“

„ _Hux.“_

„-and most of all ever letting you to my personal space?“

„So you do like me,“ Ren concluded, nudging Hux with the tip of his nose.

„I'm too tired for this, Ren. Goodnight.“

Ren rolls Hux onto his back, pinning him. Of course. „You're such a child,“ says Hux, failing to incorporate the correct amount of contempt to his tone. In fact, he made it sound rather fond, amused, and Ren notices. Of course.

They kiss until their lips are sore, kiss themselves into oblivion. What else to do in the small hours of the morning, Hux reasons, when one is too tired to get up but too awake to fall asleep. Ren's weight ceases to be a dangerous factor; on the contrary, Hux feels content with the man's bulk between himself and the outside world. He allows himself this indulgence, as well as soft murmurs and tender touches, just this once. Just for this moment. Tomorrow will be a fresh start.

After all, he knew all about denial.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> feel free to come say hi on [tumblr](http://mini-mantis.tumblr.com/)


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